


You Were Right

by Krit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krit/pseuds/Krit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter had it half right. Stiles just wants to make things clear. Well... Maybe he wants a bit more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Were Right

“You were right.”

Peter looked up from his computer to the boy standing in the doorway. _The young man_. He corrected himself, trying to feel at least a little less creepy. Baby steps of progress.

“Right about what?” He asked, shutting the lap top and motioning for Stiles to come into the room.

Stiles took two steps forward, his hands stuffed in his pockets as his eyes scanned every inch of the room. Taking in the smoke blackened walls and dust covered bookshelves. The bed was little more than a mattress on the floor piled with sheets and blankets. The desk Peter sat at was splintered and Stiles was sure he saw a mouse run underneath it.

“You know, this place isn’t a safe living environment.”

“I’m not a safe person.” Stiles rolled his eyes at that, and Peter couldn’t help but see himself in him. A thought that led him down a path of bad thoughts and double entendres. This whole ‘good guy’ thing was proving to be difficult. “What was I right about?”

“Me. That night. When you asked if I wanted the bite. You said you heard my heart beating faster when I said ‘I don’t want’.” Stiles took a hesitant glance at the floor before raising his head slowly to stare determinedly at Peter, looking him in the eye for the first time since entering the room. His face as blank and steady as that night when he challenged him. “You were right. My heart was beating faster. I was lying. Not about the bite though. I’ll admit I’d like to be more than I am. But I could never be a werewolf.”

“Then what were you lying about?”

 Stiles took another two steps forward. Then another three.  He was less than a foot from Peter, who turned his chair away from the desk so that they were facing each other. He watched Stiles’ throat work and his chest rise as he took a deep breath. Heard his heart beating faster. Not out of fear. Not dishonesty. Something else. Something new. Peter knew what Stiles was going to say before he said it. His resolve to be the good guy quickly dissipating.

“When I looked you in the eye and said “I. Don’t. Want.” Stiles moved closer on the last word, his knee almost resting against Peter’s.

“And what _do_ you want Stiles?” Peter hissed out his name in a way that made it sound half insult and half endearment.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“I think I want to hear you say it.”

“I think you have control issues.”

“I think you need to stop thinking.”

The corners of Stiles’ lips tugged upwards as he leaned forward, placing a hand on each of the arm rests of Peter’s chair.

“I. Want. You.” His face was dangerously close to Peter’s as he mimicked the mocking tone Peter had thrown at him a few months before.

“I don’t think you know what you’re asking for little one.”

“I think you need to stop thinking.”

Stiles’ mouth was inches from his own and Peter could feel that last shred of decency slip away. He forgot all about his efforts to be a better person, all his good intentions, and any thought of age difference or his search for a moral compass. Stiles’ heartbeat was thundering in his ears. He curled his fingers around the pale wrists and felt the bones shift beneath them.

The memories came flooding back. That scrawny little _boy_ racing up the lacrosse field. Barreling to the ground and challenging an _alpha_ for his prey. Staring him down. Peter had blood on his mouth and murder in his eyes but the boy didn’t even flinch. In that moment, Peter knew. Knew he had to have him. Had to claim him. When he lifted Stiles off his knees with one claw, he couldn’t help but wonder how far he could take him. How beautiful his submission would be. The exhilaration he had felt playing his cat and mouse game. Relishing at the look on Stiles’ face every time he opened his mouth. The way his breath hitched when Peter threatened him. But how he stared defiantly into his eyes every chance he got. The rush of slamming Stiles’ head into the car hood. Holding him down with the promise of persuasion.  He looked so inviting, bent over, pinned securely under Peter’s grip. The first time he held Stiles’ wrist. His offer. Wanting to bite him. To turn him. Make him his. Stiles’ rejection only made him want him more. He realized he didn’t want complete submission from him. He wanted him to fight. Wanted the fire that burned in his eyes. The strong defiance in his voice. He didn’t want to turn him. Stiles was a wild creature already. A force of nature.

To hell with it. He could be a good man tomorrow. Tonight he was a wolf, and he had been stalking this prey for far too long.

In one fluid motion he wrenched Stiles’ hands off the chair, released his arms, and grabbed the backs of his thighs, pulling him up and forward to straddle his lap. Stiles reached out instinctively to balance himself, his fingers twisting into the fabric of Peter’s shirt. His breath had quickened but he seemed oddly calmer. Less nervous. Peter kept one hand on Stiles’ leg and reached the other up to his face. His claws extending just enough to graze the soft skin of his cheek before he grabbed his jaw and pulled him in for a kiss. Their lips pressed for only half a second before Peter was biting at Stiles’ mouth.  When Stiles let out a choked moan, Peter chuckled and deepened the kiss, allowing himself to become just a little rougher. Just a little harsher. His claws pressed against skin without breaking it. Just a quiet promise.  But when Stiles rolled his hips, pressing himself down against Peter’s lap, all bets were off.

“Do you want me to hurt you, little one?” Peter murmured as he moved his lips down to Stiles’ neck. Stiles slid one of his hands up to rest against the back of Peter’s head.

“ _Please_.” The whisper was so quiet, a human might not have heard it. But to Peter, it was clear as a bell. He sank his teeth into the freckled neck, feeling the tendons shift as Stiles gasped and rocked his hips. Peter stood up, lifting Stiles and carrying him over to the bed. The way he laid him down was almost gentle, but had a distinct possessive overtone as he pressed down against him. Stiles’ shirt was off and across the room before the boy had time to blink.

Peter stared at the body beneath him, trying to decide where he wanted to touch, lick, and bite first. He pinned Stiles’ wrists together above his head with one hand and dragged the other down the smooth chest. His claws scraped the delicate skin, pressing harder as he moved further down.

“Please.” Stiles whispered again. Peter raised an eyebrow and dragged one claw along the curve of Stiles’ hipbone, pressing just hard enough to part the first layer of skin. Stiles’ breath hitched and a small bead of blood rose from the scratch. Peter grinned and repeated the action on Stiles’ collarbone, sinking his claw in just a little deeper before leaning down and lapping the blood away.

“So beautiful when you beg for me.” He murmured against the wounded skin. Stiles twisted his arms under Peter’s grip, fighting, but making no real effort to escape. His hips bucked up as he whimpered quietly.

“Please Peter. Touch me. Hurt me. Fuck me. Anything. Everything. Please. Please please _please._ ” The last word was more of a choked moan as Peter grabbed him roughly through his jeans. Stiles’ eyes were squeezed shut and his lip was clutched between his teeth. Peter couldn’t remember why he tried to talk himself out of doing this earlier as he opened the jeans and pushed them down.

“No underwear little one? Were you so sure this would happen or are you always ready for anything?” He stroked him teasingly before letting him go, leaning back to pull the offending clothing off completely and stripping down as well. Stiles’ arms stayed in place as if they were still bound. Peter grabbed the lube from the box next to his bed and made quick but almost gentle work of preparing Stiles. The moan Stiles let out when the first finger slid in sounded like relief. Like he had been waiting for this for years. When Peter was sure he was ready, he pulled Stiles’ hips up, athletic legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. He slid his hand around Stiles’ throat, holding him down as he slid in. Stiles writhed beneath him, moans and whimpers and meaningless babble falling from his lips like prayers.

“Such a noisy little whore, aren’t you?” He chuckled as he moved slowly at first. His paced quickened when Stiles nodded. Peter tightened his grip around the pale throat and pressed his lips to his ear. “My own personal whore. So desperate and needy. I’ll bet if I whistled and snapped my fingers, you’d come running.” He gripped Stiles’ hip with his free hand, his claws holding him in place as his thrusts became rougher.

“Yes.” Stiles let out in a breathless whisper, his moans broken and harsh as Peter pressed down on his throat. “I’m yours. Whenever you want. However you want.”

Peter growled and pressed their lips together in a bruising kiss, claiming every inch of Stiles’ mouth.

When Peter came, he let out what he would later deny was a howl and would glare at Stiles when he tried arguing otherwise.

When Stiles came, Peter licked the tears from the corners of his eyes.

As they lay on the disheveled bed, basking in the afterglow, Peter placed a hand on Stiles’ face. It was such a gentle touch that Stiles looked up at him in confusion.

“Mine.” Peter said simply before pressing a small but firm kiss to his lips and settling down to sleep.

“Yours.”


End file.
